


Induction

by DirectorShellhead



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drowning, Electrocution, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Torture, really this is entirely unpleasant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirectorShellhead/pseuds/DirectorShellhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing all humans learn: how to breathe.<br/>The second thing all humans learn: how to cry.<br/>The Ten Rings re-educated Tony Stark in these simplest of lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Induction

**Author's Note:**

> The format is jacked and weird. I know. Stick with me, though? It shifts to normal halfway through.

_Tony is_

_heaving gasping soaking wet and_

_unfurling drops that's blood (his) in the_

_water he can't_

_breathe_

_not like this with his_

_skull_

_exploding                                              into stars as the                         club_

_connects_

_again (again)_

_and_

_(so that’s what burnt flesh smells like) even_

_wet_

_even_

_airless_

_still it chars and smokes_

_his chest is_

_sparking like_

_steel on steel_

_(he’s made of that now)_

_plunging they’re_

_dunking him_

_under holding him_

_down_

_pinning him under there’s a_

_hundred_

_hands_

_shoving him deep grappling like hooks into his temples eye sockets mouth digging_

_down_

_to bone_

_and he’s never begged_

_(Starks don’t stoop that low they’re made of iron Howard told him this punctuated the claim with fists)_

_but he’s                                                                                                                                                   cracking that’s_

_what he’s_

_doing that’s his_

_lungs_

_on fire like his_

_sternum it’s_

_gone (cut away)_

_like the last breath of oxygen there’s none he’s_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_drowning_

_CHOKING_

_to death with filthy water in his_

_eyes and his nose and his throat and his gut and the_

_g  a  p  I  n  g h  o  l  e_

_in                        his_

_chest_

_where the water runs like_

_blood runs like_

_rivers into the                                                                            tunnel and ignites his insides like_

_fireworks he’s_

_seizing now it’s_

_slipping the_

_battery_

_and he can’t           he can’t it’s        too     much he’s_

_begging_

_SCREAMING_

 

 

 

_he’s begging he’s saying please_

_sobbing it                                    STOP_

_(like a prayer)_

_and they’re saying build it and he heaves a huge ragged breath through flooded lungs and_

_convulses_

_and_

_says_

_NO—_

 

The first thing all humans learn: how to breathe. 

The second thing all humans learn: how to cry.  
  
The Ten Rings had re-educated him in these simplest of lessons. 

 **Lesson one:**  
They drag him by the shoulders out of the tank and dump him onto the gritty puddled floor.

A boot connects with his core; ribs shatter; water lurches out of him in a terrible rasping gurgle as consciousness reclaims its hold.

Another kick, and he's scrambling to all fours but he can't push himself up because the muscles in his chest are all sliced to hell.

Raza kneels, knots his fingers into Tony's hair and hauls his head back while Tony's still fighting past the revolt of his windpipe. 

"Don't make the mistake," says Raza, spinning his ring pensively round and round, not deigning to look at Tony's face, "of believing that you have any choice in this, Mr. Stark. You will build the Jericho for us."

Tony finds his breath then, sucks it in and spits it out as "Fuck you."

Raza drops him back down and rolls him over onto his back.

Someone yanks at the battery, must've picked it up when he'd let it slip, because they're tugging at it now, sending the wires scraping all over the casing of the thing that they've jammed into his chest.

Tony learns how to breathe between the shocks, the convulsions that follow, the terrifying bouts in the tank.

Raza smiles down at him and spins his ring.

They repeat this lesson many times. 

 

 **Lesson Two:**  
They drag him by the shoulders out of the tank and dump him onto the gritty puddled floor.

(All lessons here begin with water, just as life in the womb.)

Raza kneels, knots his fingers into Tony's hair and hauls his head back, and shoves his fingers down Tony's throat. 

Tony comes awake retching up volumes of water streaked bright with fresh blood. 

"Don't make the mistake," Raza says, an indulgent, feral smile on his lips, "of believing that there is any part of you I cannot bend to my will."

Someone's stripping off his pants then, and Tony hears himself saying "no" like he's a million miles away from the sound. 

Raza wraps a hand around his cock and sets a rhythm so brutal that Tony's whole body shudders, writhes, but can't get free of his grip. 

Tony comes with a desperate bit-back growl, and understands for the first time what shame really is, and wishes he were dead.  

Raza smears the mess of it over his ass, and someone's plowing into him then. 

Tony doesn't scream or struggle. He forgets the first lesson. He lies shock-still and slack-mouthed and overcome with the force and burn and sick throbbing ache of invasion, outstripping the pain in his chest and the thudding in his skull and the raw nerve-searing revolt of his every muscle.

"You don't belong to yourself, Mr. Stark. Your body is mine. Your mind is mine. Your weapons, too, will be mine," Raza tells him, stroking his jaw as whoever's behind him shoves his face into the dirt and rallies toward climax. 

 

Later, after they've tossed him back onto the cot in the chamber where he'd first awoken, where Yinsen also sleeps and eats and speaks to him sometimes, Tony buries his head in his arms and curls up tight into himself and wishes he could disappear. 

Yinsen asks him about family, and Tony thinks of Pepper and pity, and of Rhodey and guilt, and of how he will never be able to look at either of them ever again because he is a desecration and a waste and a disease of rampant selfish folly and nothing anyone could ever love. 

 

He cries. 

 

He doesn' t do this in the way of brand-new humans just learning how for the first time, but in the way of one who wishes for an end of days, slow defeated tears tracking clean streaks through the ground-in dirt and filth on both his cheeks. 

They only have to repeat this lesson a few times. 

 

"Have you learned what I'm teaching, Mr. Stark?" Raza asks him once, after, kneeling down by the cot where Tony is trying not to exist. 

Tony nods. 

"Are you ready to start building my missile?"

Silence hollows out all around them, and there is, for a long time, only the sound of their breathing: Raza's, slow and measured; Tony's, rasping and erratic. 

He has had plenty of time to consider his answer and what it will mean, what it will look like when made manifest.

He nods again, eventually.

Says "yes." 

An idea sits behind the word, vibrating, yet to be potentiated.

He’s never been more ready to build in his entire life.

This time, even though Raza doesn’t see it—because Raza does not look at human stains like him—Tony is the one who smiles. 


End file.
